


Crossbones and Worms

by quake_quiver



Series: Ten Trails Challenge: Trail 9 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Buried Alive, Dean Winchester Whump, Dean Winchester is Claustrophobic, Gen, Hunt Gone Wrong, M/M, Panic, Protective Sam Winchester, gen or shippy, i have used that tag too many times in the past three days already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26810167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quake_quiver/pseuds/quake_quiver
Summary: Dean’s in a box. Dean’s in a box, and he can’t hear Sam, and he can’t see light.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Wincestiel if you squint - Relationship
Series: Ten Trails Challenge: Trail 9 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955368
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40
Collections: Ten Trails Whump Challenge 2020





	Crossbones and Worms

**Author's Note:**

> For "buried alive." Read this as any ship you'd like--gen, wincestiel, wincest. Whatever floats your boat. Enjoy!

Dean’s in a box. Dean’s in a box, and he can’t hear Sam, and he can’t see light.

Damn vampires. Damn hunting. Dean feels around him, above him, and grit-covered wood meets his fingers. Dirt is slipping through the cracks; Dean wants to hyperventilate.

The last time he woke up in a box, he was fresh out of Hell. Now, at least, it’s just a hunt that fucked up. Sam should find him. Or Cas. He won’t be stuck here forever, and he can claw his way out.

He’s done it before, he can do it again. Probably.

Dean sucks in a breath, and it comes out in a sharp gasp. He has to stop himself from panting. He lifts his head, just to try to keep the panic under control, and then lets it fall against the bottom of the coffin with a dull thunk.

“Sam,” Dean wheezes, even though there’s no way Sam would hear him from six feet up. “Cas. Help.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to take a deep breath. He feels along the top of the coffin again, and then slams against the wood with his elbows, his knees. But this box is much more shallow than the last one Dean was buried in, and he can’t get enough leverage to break out.

Dean does his best not to panic. He’s claustrophobic on a good day; six feet underground, in a pine box with dwindling air, Dean feels like his heart is going to break out of his ribcage.

All he can do is try to breathe. It doesn’t stop him from trying to break the box, but Dean’s screwed if he passes out. He just hopes Sam isn’t in the same situation.

This nest of vampires has a weird obsession with burying their victims. Generally not until they’ve collected some blood from them, but they have a whole backyard full of uneven ground, where they’ve buried a bunch of people alive. Dean, they seem to have buried on principle. They didn’t get his blood, Dean can tell that much.

Not that it matters. Vampires are the least of his problems right now.

“Sam,” Dean breathes again, because saying his brother’s name makes the panic recede. “Help.”

Dean bangs against the top of the box. It doesn’t budge. His heart is pounding so hard it’s making him sick.

He doesn’t know what to do, and he doesn’t know how long it’s been before he hears faint commotion above him. He’s laying in a panicked haze, feeling progressively more and more woozy as he runs out of oxygen in this tiny wooden prison, but there’s definitely noise above him.

Dean can’t place it. It’s not a sound he’s ever heard before, and even if he’d recognize it topside, it’s so muffled through feet of dirt and a layer of pine that it’s warped beyond recognition.

Something heavy bangs against the top of the coffin a few moments later, making Dean jump. His heart kicks even further into overdrive, and even though his head is swimming, he pulls in a deep breath.

“Sam,” he shouts, straining to be heard. “Cas. Help me.”

There’s another loud thunk, and then muffled voices. The wood above him begins to crack, and Dean almost wants to weep. Then the top is pulled away with a loud snap, tossed away, and Dean comes face to face with Sam and Castiel, covered in vampire blood and grave dirt. He’s never been so glad to see them or so grateful for the sun on his face, and his next breath is big and gasping to fill his lungs with fresh air and clean oxygen.

Sam reaches for him. Dean accepts the help, climbing out of the box and out of the hole and collapsing onto the grass nearby. Sam climbs out after him, and comes to sit by him, and Cas joins them, and Dean pretty much climbs into their laps.

Well. He doesn’t _really_ , of course, Dean Winchester doesn’t climb onto people’s laps. But he eagerly accepts Sam’s embrace and Cas’s hand on his back.

“I gotcha,” Sam says into his ear. “Sorry, vamps gave us trouble. Otherwise we would have reached you sooner.”

Dean doesn’t care. Sam found him, and that’s all that matters. He presses his dusty face against Sam’s blood-spattered neck. Cas’s forehead drops against the back of his shoulder, his hand running down his spine.

Dean hates small spaces. Always will, after Hell and after waking up in that coffin the first time. But as long as Sam and Cas find him, he’ll be just fine.

He always is.


End file.
